


Something to Be Earned

by Filmsterr



Series: A Gentleman Caller [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Historical, Bottom Castiel, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Infidelity, M/M, Married Castiel/Dean Winchester, Pregnancy, Self-Esteem Issues, Top Dean, Trust Issues, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-22
Updated: 2018-03-22
Packaged: 2019-04-05 07:40:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14039415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Filmsterr/pseuds/Filmsterr
Summary: As a married man, Sundays have been given a whole new meaning.





	Something to Be Earned

**Author's Note:**

> I have way too many stories to work on!!!
> 
>  
> 
> Also am tagging this as A/B/O even though it isn't **explicitly** set in that realm but has vague tendencies toward it and can be read that way if you so choose.

Sundays are something that Castiel has always treasured. When he was a child, it was the sole day that his family could enjoy together, without his father tending the field or his mother being kept busy all day in front of a burning stove. He took great pleasure in their time spent together as a family, even when it was as simple as him and Anna laying at their father's feet while he read to them from the day's news journal. 

As a married man, Sundays have been given a whole new meaning.

On the Lord’s day, not a soul in town leaves their home, other than to attend services at day break and return promptly to the homestead. Not even the market is open, which means that there could be no reason for Dean to be anywhere other than hunkered down in the most comfortable chair in their home, with the contented smile of a man well-kept simmering on his face all day long. 

Dean says that before, when he was a single man, he would spend the whole day in his shop, tinkering and working to keep his supply plentiful, even to the point of excess. In the face of those burning flames, he would hammer away, thinking of the day when he would have a reason, a person to keep him home on Sundays. 

Castiel is filled with an endless surge of joy by the sheer fact that he gets to be that person, that reason. 

His favorite thing about Sundays is the slowness with which the day rolls by. He wakes with the sun, instead of long before its rise, and finds himself still nestled in Dean’s arms; which is, for reference, exactly where his own version of heaven springs into existence.  

His morning consists of sweet open-mouthed kisses trailing from his lips to his toes, sweet serenades sung into the crevice of his ear, reminding him what a good boy he is as he feels the familiar sensations of his husband sinking inside of him. Castiel wraps his legs around Dean and feels himself cracking wide open from the goodness that floods into him. He tries to remember what life felt like before the first time Dean made love to him, and finds that he cannot. It's as if trying to remember what it felt like before he could understand language: impossible, and ultimately not worth the time. 

Sundays are so lovely because more often than not they are spent almost completely in bed. And more time in bed with Dean means- besides all of the pleasure Castiel can imagine being able to partake of- a better chance that Castiel will get pregnant, and finally he can start to feel like he’s the kind of spouse that Dean deserves. 

For over a year they’ve been married, and for most of that time they’ve been trying without cease to produce a child. All to no avail. Not that it's a waste of energy, exactly; there are, of course, other benefits to making love. But still, Castiel is beginning to fret. A marriage without children is uncommon, and will no doubt begin to draw speculation from others after time. He doesn't want the eyes of the community focused on him and Dean. He likes to keep what it between them private. Sacred. 

Dean soothes him, tells him to stay calm and keep his chin up.  “It will happen for us,” he kisses the words onto Castiel’s skin while he wipes away the tears that come too often now, “I promise you. You need just be a little patient.”

But patience is something that is difficult to come by. It’s difficult when he sees girls who’ve been married half the time he has, walking around with their big, bloated bellies and their smugly satisfied grins. He sees boys fresh off their honeymoons bounding with joy as they let the whole village know the news that they’re expecting, while month after month he visits the doctor only to hear that nothing's changed. 

It’s him, Castiel is sure. There’s some sort of problem with him. All he wants in the world is to be carrying Dean’s child, and yet that’s the one thing he’s being denied. 

And while he knows that Dean will continue to love him, and continue to provide for him, whether or not they ever see their house filled with little baby Winchesters like they’ve always planned; Castiel doesn’t know if he could live with himself knowing that he's failed in his husbandly duties. 

On this particular Sunday, he senses a cloud of dismay hanging over his household. He looks down at the pot that's bubbling over on the stove below him and gives it a melancholy swirl. He’s glad that the stew inside is too thick with vegetables and meat to produce any kind of reflection. He wouldn’t want to see his own face, filled with sorrow, looking back at him.

A strong pair of arms surprise him, sneaking their way under his arms and coming to wrap around his middle, the rough hands resting on top of his stomach. His flat, disappointing stomach.

Dean lips start to press several kisses into the nape of his neck. Even in the midst of his sadness, it’s hard for Castiel not to crack a smile when he’s being loved by Dean. 

“Are we doing alright over here?” a voice mumbles in a low timbre against his skin. Dean rubs his nose into the curve of the skin there, and Castiel feels himself replacing the worry in his heart with a kind of lightness. 

“Yes,” he answers, and he half-believes it himself, “I’m alright.”

Dean hums as he sways his hips against Castiel's, giving an encouraging nudge of his pelvis into his backside. “Have I ever mentioned that I have the best husband in town?” 

Castiel, buoyed by Dean's unerring joy, teases, “Mm, occasionally. You can say it again, if you like, though.”

Suddenly comes a mad knocking at their door. The wood of the door itself shakes from the force, and the metal hinges of the lock rattle wildly. Dean gives Castiel a concerned look. He motions for him to stay in place while he himself goes to inspect the situation. While Castiel might normally fight the idea of him being some delicate flower unable to defend himself if need be, in this case he relents to his husband, as the ease of his Sunday has left him feeling utterly unprepared for whatever lays behind that threshold.

The minute that Dean opens the door even a slight crack, there’s a flash of red that stretches from the entryway into the parlor, and it's only upon further inspection that Castiel realizes it is his sister who has burst her way into their home. He watches bewildered from where he stands in front of the stove. Her disheveled appearance alone is enough to leave him wondering, but the anger that's set into her visage has him holding back from asking any questions. 

“Men,” Anna seethes through teeth set so firmly together that Castiel fears for the safety of her jaw, “are a hoard of untrained beasts!”

Castiel stands stock still, feet frozen and eyes gone wide at the sheer intensity of his sister’s presence. Dean, across the room, is shockingly casual as he snorts, “What did he do now?”

Castiel sends an admonishing look his way, at which Dean has the decency to look sheepish. He knows full and well that Anna suffers in her marriage, that she hasn’t had nearly the luck that Castiel has in taking on a husband. He needn’t make light of it, not in front of her face, when she’s clearly in such distress over something.  

Anna, for her part, is nearly unperturbed by Dean's behavior. She looks over at him, but not with offense or contempt. “I’d like to speak with my brother privately.” 

“Of course.” Dean bends to her with a mixture of deference and trepidation. He turns toward Castiel and makes an aborted movement to reach out for him. He seems to rethink the movement as his eyes dart to Anna and back. But still, his gaze is gentle when he tells Castiel, “I’ll be down in the down in the shop," and quickly takes his leave. 

Castiel invites Anna to take a seat at the table. The fresh blue mark on her arm doesn’t escape his notice, but he tucks it away to discuss with her lately. Now, he’s here to listen. 

He brings her a tea without asking, and she nods her gratitude without looking him in the eye.

“She’s pregnant.”

The statement, standing on its own and drowning in contempt from Anna’s spiteful pronunciation of it, shocks Castiel. Some instinctive part of him already feels a bitter resentment towards whoever this woman is, the same kind he feels towards every person who doesn't even have the slightest clue of their own luck at the ability to carry a child so easily. 

But he pushes away his own selfish instinct. Anna's eyes are small and dark, but they look to him for help. "Who is?" he manages to choke out at last. 

“His whore," answers Anna, fingers gripped around her cup hard enough to crack the ceramic, "He’s gone and gotten her pregnant.”

By God. Castiel had always suspected... well, that is to say, many people in town had... but he hadn't been able to confirm that Michael had actually been unfaithful to his sister. Not until now, that is. The information makes him want to stand up and march over to confront him right now. It also drives an awful sadness into his heart. “Anna, I…” 

What can he say? He has no idea the depths of emotion that his sister must be feeling right now. Embarrassment, first and foremost, and betrayal. Anna herself at home with this man's child, and he still feels the need to go for a roll in the hay with some trollop from town. Carrying on like a teenaged boy instead of the man he should be for his family. 

Anna exhales a long breath. She doesn’t seem to need him to tell her anything. She’s staring at her own hands, wringing them in front of her, lips curled with such unhinged anger. “He takes her into our home, into our bed, and he doesn’t even have the decency to…” 

Castiel looks up to match her gaze when he realizes that there are tears in her voice. Oh, how his heart breaks for her then. 

He leaps up from his seat, goes to her, takes her hand between his and tries his best to coo away the pain so evident on her face. 

"I was such a fool," she hiccups in between sobs, "I was so young... in such a rush to feel grown up." She sniffles and pulls out a handkerchief, wiping at her running nose. “I never knew-- never expected how detestable men could be until I married one.”

It's hard for Castiel not to feel objectively grateful for Dean in that moment. Watching his sister going through a kind of pain that he knows he himself would never have to endure. Dean is far too good a man to even consider partaking in extramarital activities. Despite his somewhat checkered romantic past, he's been more faithful to Castiel than the young man had ever even dared to hope for in a spouse. 

This isn't about him, or his blessings. Yet still. He hopes perhaps that it will encourage his sister, should she ever be able to free herself from the grasp of her wretched husband. “Anna. You know that not every man--”

“Don’t be a fool, Castiel," she spits at him, tears now dried as the anger in her voice reappears with a sudden smack, "All men are the same. Every one of them is filled with contempt and greed and lust, and it only takes the slightest provocation to set them off.” She draws her eyes over him, and the firm line of her mouth softens. “I’ll be sorry to see it happen to you. Truly.”

The certainty of her words lands like a blow to the chest. Castiel retrieves his hands and folds them into his lap. He has no words to respond to the accusations she’s made. The fact that she would compare his marriage to hers is nothing less than insulting; to compare Dean to Michael when the two men couldn’t be more contrary to one another. To think that Dean… 

It is at that very moment that Anna bursts into tears. And though he himself might be lost in a turmoil of mixed emotions, Castiel’s thought are diverted completely into comforting his sister. He thinks of her infant son at home, of the rumors that surely must be floating already through the townspeople, and of the bruise peeking out below the hem of his sister's skirt. He stands to her level and pulls her tight in against, and he tells her things that he hopes will someday be true for her. 

Some time later, after Anna has dried her eyes and taken her leave, Dean returns home. Castiel is still seated at the table, the sheer intensity of his sister’s visit having left him something akin to stunned for the time being. 

Dean greets him with a dramatically raise eyebrow. “What’s Michael gone and done now, then?” 

He slides into a chair beside Castiel, who can barely bring himself to look Dean in the eye as he informs him. “He’s taken a mistress.”

And Dean, his attitude uncharacteristically as calloused as his hands, snorts a cruel laugh. Castiel feels his eyes go wide as he stares at his husband. 

Dean responds with a shrug of the shoulders. “Well, I’m sorry, but you cannot expect me to say that I’m surprised by this.” 

Dean has never hidden from Castiel his distaste for Anna's husband. Far from it- and why should he have? It was Castiel who first declared that Michael was a brute and an unfit husband, that their evenings together were so much the finer when his patently dark presence was omitted. 

Still, the coldness with which he receives this information makes the hairs at the nape of Castiel’s neck stand on end. Is infidelity really such a small matter to him? Something that can be shrugged away as simply as anything else? 

Castiel shakes the thought away. He needn’t let Anna’s harsh words, born out a deep sense of hurt and insecurity, drive a wedge into his marriage. 

“Well, the girl’s with child, apparently.”

At that bit of news, Dean’s expression changes. It hardens. He sucks in a breath of air and looks away from Castiel.  “Michael really is a damn fool,” he declares morosely. “A damn fool.”

And why is that? Castiel longs to ask. Is he a fool for engaging in an extramarital affair, or in being foolish enough to get himself caught? 

Castiel takes a long second to regard his husband, slowly. At what point in Anna’s marriage did she discover the truth about the wretched personality of the man she married? 

It seems impossible for him now to see Dean as anything other than a near perfect specimen of a man… but the certainty with which his sister had deemed all men as lustful monsters has him feeling anxious.

Their marriage is still so new, so precious. Their nights together are loving and their Sundays cherished. But can that truly last a lifetime? As the years pass, will Dean's eyes still shine mischievously when he stares at Castiel across the room? 

Castiel's own eyes drop sullenly, and a hands goes to rub absently at his stomach. What if he can never carry children? Why shouldn't Dean go out in search of someone who can bear his seed, continue his name? His heart wrenches at the thought.  

Dean rises to his feet and approaches Castiel, clearly unaware of his husband’s change in state. He rubs a hand over Castiel’s shoulder and leans down to press a kiss into his cheek. “Let’s serve up that stew, eh?” he volunteers, "I'm famished. You stay there, let me serve you a bowl."

In the days that follow, a subtle shift occurs in the Winchester household. Castiel begins to watch closely the way Dean moves, the way he carries himself, the way he looks at and talks to Castiel. 

He cannot seem to find any way to convince himself that this man, who always takes care to tell him that he is beautiful and who makes him feel so very loved, could ever be unfaithful to him. That he could ever let his carnal needs overwhelm his capacity to be the best husband Castiel could ever deserve. 

He scolds himself for giving in the childish, dramatic follies. Dean deserves better than half-cocked accusations made without basis in fact. 

And yet the thoughts grip him day and night. Images he wishes he'd never seen flash on his eyelids every time he blinks. Pride starts to rise and bubble beneath the surface of Castiel’s skin. If ever… if ever something like that were to happen, as loathe as he is to even consider the possibility of that instance, Castiel could not abide to be taken for a fool in that way.

Thinking that he himself to blame for letting himself love Dean so much, for putting his faith in a man who could be so weak. Castiel could have married any number of men before he found Dean. He turned away numerous suitors that he deemed unworthy of giving himself to. He wasn’t like Anna, who had jumped at the first chance of freedom that came in the form of a man with a see-through smile. 

He had held out until he found someone he could trust, someone that wouldn’t make him compromise himself to become the perfect, obedient, complacent little decoration. 

So, he thinks to himself, that if Dean were to go out philandering and turn him into just that, the rage- and the pain- he would feel, would be unfathomable.  

This all comes to be too much for Castiel to contemplate. He decides that he is going to let Dean know now, in no uncertain terms, that if he expects Castiel to be that kind of husband, then he is dead wrong.  

It happens when they’re in bed together one night. Sunday hasn’t yet come again, Castiel can’t stand to see his favorite day marred by marital tensions. So on this day, when Dean returns from a long day’s work in his shop, his skin hot and muscles sore from hours wielding a hammer in front of the forge, and he is particularly interested in lavishing affection on his young lover, Castiel decides that the moment has come. 

He waits until he has Dean precisely where he needs him to be: with his eyelids clamped shut and he curses with pleasure and praises Castiel, who straddles him with legs spread wide, circling his hips in that practiced way that makes Dean go delirious every time. Then, he slides his palms over the taut curve of Dean’s chest and leans down to place his lips just next to his husband’s ear. 

“I just want you to know,” he says with an absolute confidence that is only somewhat rooted in reality, “that if you ever take another into our marriage bed... I will ruin you." His breath is hot and thick and he can see the beads of sweat that roll over Dean's temple. "I will take everything in this house and I will leave you here to rot.”

And then, feeling sufficiently at ease that he has gotten his message across, and satisfied at seeing some balance restored in their relationship, he sits back up and begins to move his hips again, focusing on bringing Dean to release so that they can call it a night and fall asleep, to continue into tomorrow as if everything is all good and well. 

He’s stopped in his movements by two firm hands gripping his sides with a dire urgency. Surprised, he looks down at Dean, and finds his husband's face contorted into an expression that he doesn't much like seeing. 

“Castiel,” he breathes. It’s only his name, but the way Dean says it has his confidence crumbling more quickly than he can compensate for. 

He halts his movement, feeling suddenly small. Helpless. He wants to crawl off of Dean and go to sleep without another word.  From the wild-eyed expression on his husband’s face, it is clear to him that that is not going to be an option. 

“Castiel, you don’t… you don’t think me capable of anything like that, do you?”

“Capable?” Castiel shifts in a way to emphasize Dean's erection, and he repeats the word with a hit of a laugh like it might be part of some grand ruse. 

“Don’t joke,” Dean chides him, and Castiel wishes he hadn’t. “I…” Dean stops and purses his lips. Castiel feels instantly guilty for having made him look like that. The seconds while he waits for Dean to gon on are absolutely some of the longest of his life. 

“Have I not been a good enough husband to you? Have I not properly done my duty in making you feel cared for, taken care of?” 

Although Castiel himself has just come from making similar accusations, he feels affronted that Dean would say anything as much. “Of course you have,” he scoffs, and pulls his arms into his chest.  

He doesn't want to look at Dean any more. This discussion is proving far more embarrassing than he had planned for; he had thought that he could slip one quick warning into their nightly lovemaking, and that would be it. He did not imagine that Dean would be so dead set on challenging him. 

Strong fingers slide over the line of his jaw and turn his face downward, to look at Dean. He appears to Castiel to be many things, a little scared and a little breathless and more than a little hurt. 

“Castiel… I adore you. Is that not clear?” 

Castiel maintains eye contact but his voice is small. “It is.”

Dean's eyes shine emerald green, and he somehow looks bother older than his twenty-five years and incredibly young and vulnerable. He strokes his fingers over Castiel's chin and tells him, “If I only have you for the rest of my days… that's what I want. Only you. I need nothing else.”

It isn't difficult to believe him. Castiel is filled with emotion looking down upon this man. This man, who belongs to him, and who is so unlike any other that Castiel has ever come across in all his life. 

But it is important that he knows where he will stand, should all hope disappear from certain roads of their future. “And if I can’t give you children?" he lifts his chin defiantly, "What then?”

When he says it, he feels almost certain that this is what will force Dean to crack. What man would accept being unable to sire his own brood? It isn't just a matter of parenthood, or security. It is a man's legacy, and he would be an idiot to allow it to waste away before his eyes.

Somehow, Dean is still lighthearted when he shakes his head and reaches up for Castiel's hand. “Then I suppose you’ll have my undivided attention all to yourself," he declares resolutely. He sighs and adds, "But you can. We will have children, many of them, I’m sure. You are so very young. Please, just try and be patient.”

Patience may be a virtue, but it is certainly not something Castiel is accustomed to. For Dean, though, he can make a valiant effort. 

“Just… don’t ever make me feel stupid for trusting you with my heart.” He can't meet Dean's eyes when he makes the request. He already feels too small, as if he has gone to great lengths to prove that he is still, in some respects, just a child. Dramatic, easily taken by flights of fancy.

Dean whispers softly, “I’m not Michael, you know.”

Castiel does know that. He is a well aware, and it is a credit to Dean's goodness that the mere comparison doesn't induce more of a dispute. Castiel had ought to apologize, to show Dean what a fine husband he is and how grateful Castiel is to be his. 

He leans down, with Dean still inside him though long gone soft, and lays his lips onto Dean's in the softest way he can imagine. He parts his mouth and sighs, hoping that his lover can feel the way he is giving himself, down to the very last shred, over completely. He is breaking himself down and handing over heart. He trusts Dean to take care of it; to take care of him. 

Though he vows to himself never again to let the words of other influence his relationship, especially not Anna and her complete misunderstanding of a loving marriage-- he is glad to have had this night with Dean, to have laid himself bare at the altar of love and have felt his marriage fortified by the quelling of his fears. 

Though, he does admit freely to himself though that he did act a bit silly in the midst of all this.  

He feels much better about everything after a visit from the doctor a few weeks later. Emotional outbursts are normal, after all. Especially when one is expecting. 


End file.
